


Licking a Stripe

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [83]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen has a hangover, Ryan is cleaning the flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Licking a Stripe

The sound of whistling penetrated the darkest recesses of Stephen’s sleep-addled brain and resulted in what small amount of sanity was left to him wondering why he’d just wagged a tail he didn’t have and run around like a contestant on One Man and his Dog.

Damn it, what the hell had been in those cocktails Lyle had been buying… ?

He rolled over and muttered bad-temperedly, “Stop whistling, ‘m not a bloody dog.”

“No, sweetie,” Ryan responded, with the sort of cheerfulness that had no doubt been used to torture generations of squaddies, probably after forcing them to run up Pen y Fan six times in the same day. “Of course you’re not.”

Stephen rolled over onto his side and scrubbed at his bleary eyes with one hand. He was rewarded by the sight of Ryan wearing a pair of tight, faded blue jeans that had very definitely seen better days topped by an old teeshirt that only looked fit to be used for cleaning floors.

And speaking of cleaning, that appeared to be exactly what his boyfriend was doing.

It was Saturday morning; they’d gone to bed sometime after 2am, following a night on the piss with Lyle and some of the lads, which had culminated in two-for-one cocktails in a pub that had appeared to rejoice in the name of The Fighting Cock, something that had demonstrated without a shadow of doubt that UK Special Forces were almost wholly populated with eleven-year-olds. And to make matters worse, even Lester had found it funny.

A large glass of cold milk and some headache tablets appeared as if my magic on the bedside table. Stephen blinked and wondered if Ryan had sprouted wings and turned into an angel. He wondered if he wished hard enough whether a bacon butty might appear.

“Not until after I’ve vacuumed the floor,” Ryan said, employing the uncanny telepathy that had probably unnerved the very same squaddies he’d tortured with unrelenting cheerfulness.

“Is it going to involve noise?” Stephen asked plaintively.

“Almost certainly. Even the obscenely rich Mr Dyson hasn’t invented the wholly silent vacuum.”

“I might die if there’s noise…”

“Try not to die, sweetie. We’re running out of places to bury the bodies.”

“You’re starting to sound like Lester,” Stephen complained. “Please don’t sound like Lester, I’m not sure my nerves will take it.”

“Lester doesn’t whistle.”

The only good thing about the vacuuming was that it drowned out the noise of the whistling.

* * * * *

The milk and painkillers were followed by two large shots of espresso as black as Blade’s heart and a fried bacon roll that almost certainly took years off the shelf-life of his arteries.

After which, Stephen was more than happy to lie propped up in bed, surrounded by pillows, watching Ryan work.

The vacuuming was followed by some precision tidying up, accompanied – for some reason that Stephen couldn’t quite put his finger on – by Ryan humming the theme tune to The Magic Roundabout.

Just when Stephen thought he was in with a chance of enticing Ryan back to bed, The Magic Roundabout morphed seamlessly into something that sounded suspiciously like Mission Impossible and Ryan appeared carrying a large yellow cloth and a container of window cleaning spray. And the bloody man had every appearance of someone who seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Are you sublimating?” Stephen demanded, wondering if he was still dreaming.

“Nope, did that in the shower while you were still snoring.”

At the mention of showers, Stephen’s cock gave a rather hopeful twitch. Ryan’s obscenely tight jeans clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The scent of lemon filled the air as Ryan sprayed liquid over the windows and leaned up to start wiping the yellow cloth rather vigorously over the glass. The thin teeshirt did nothing to disguise the smooth interplay of muscle, honed to perfection by long hours in combat. Ryan’s broad shoulders tapered to a surprisingly slender waist, on display now that he wasn’t wearing bulky black combat trousers. The soldier had a athlete’s grace and a fighter’s economy of movement and Stephen didn’t think he’d ever tire of watching him move. Or watching him rest.

As Ryan stretched up to reach the top of the glass, his teeshirt rode up, revealing an enticing expanse of sun-bronzed skin.

Stephen sighed happily and kept watching.

Eventually, temptation got the better of the dregs of his hangover and Stephen slid out from under the duvet and gripped Ryan’s hips with both hands, leaning down to lick a long, wet stripe over his skin from side to the other, just above the waistband of the sinfully tight jeans. When all Ryan did was brace his hands on either side of the window and push back against him, Stephen did it again in the opposite direction, tasting the light tang of Ryan’s sweat. When that met with no resistance, he reached around and flipped open the button on Ryan’s jeans and eased down the zip.

Ryan’s hard cock promptly strained against the black cotton of his pants. Stephen tugged at the waistband of his lover’s underwear and slipped his hand inside, enjoying the silky feel of the taut skin stretched around Ryan’s dick.

“Thank Christ for that,” Ryan said with feeling. “I though I was going to have to clean the entire fucking flat before I got a shag.”

Stephen pushed Ryan’s jeans and underwear down over his hips and set his mind to the very important business of licking a very wet stripe in the crack of an extremely delicious arse.

A few moments later, he surfaced long enough to comment, “You only had to ask, darling. But you’re right, the bedroom did need a damn good bottoming.”


End file.
